Love Redeemed, Book 4 (23 page)

Then I
’m flipped again and bent over the couch opposite of the partition, still on my knees. He enters me with zest, and before I can catch my breath, I feel those zinging sensations of pleasure coursing through my wobbly frame. I steady myself to catch each plunge. I now feel the mist of sweat sprouting from my body against the plush leather. My moans are feral. I feel like I’m losing my mind in pleasure. His scent blankets me. His touch sets me on fire. His thrust melts my core. I bite my lip to feel pain in order to keep consciousness. It’s fleeting with each delicious drive into me.

“You a’ight, Brimm?” Azmir call
s out in his Brooklyn twang. “Looks like you’re struggling. Stay with me!” he barks.

I c
an’t think to speak. I can’t formulate the words to tell him I’m on another planet. I don’t want to talk at all; I only want to
feel
.

He lift
s me upright, into a vertical position as we’re still on our knees, him behind me. Azmir’s hips still pump deeply and thoroughly. He lifts my upper torso, brings my arms up, and one by one, over his shoulders where my hands find their way to the back of his head. His warm hands then make busy with one thrumming my peaked nipple and the other pinching my lips from below over him firmly. As he thrusts into me, we knock against his hand and I can feel the massage against my pearl. Ripples of pleasure undulates my core in no time. My head collapses back on his shoulder. I feel sensations from the spores of my scalp to the pads of my feet.  

Before I kn
ow it, my body stiffens in orgasm-readiness at the rhythm of him plunging up and down…in and out. My body begins with low and steady trembles. The trembles turn into convulsions as I moan mindlessly from the onset of my orgasm. Azmir grips my shaky frame and continues with his masterful lunges into my core. My spine gives and my torso jerks, almost leaping forward, but he holds me until I land back on earth.

Amazing
.

I
’m depleted. Completely exhausted. So much so, he has to hold me up because I’m prepared to collapse on the floorboard. He pulls out of me and flips me again. This time I land on my back where he plants himself between my legs. His plunges never falter. They’re still strong, resolute, and generous. I can still feel ripples of pleasure from his unrelenting horsepower. Even feeling each inch of bliss he delivers, I’m fading. In my befuddled state, I still have sense to know that I’m crashing. I focus my intoxicated eyes on his beautiful face and recognize the intense zone he’s in as he rocks deliciously into me.

I don’t know how long or why he chose to take on this rendezvous
tonight. Neither do I care. I enjoy every artful thrust and feel each droplet of sweat of his that lightly splatters over my trembling body. I submit to him and ride out everything he gives, trying to remain conscious. I’m slowly fading and this time, unlike in Phoenix, I know why and where.

“Fuck her,” I vaguely hear in my descent.
“To you, I make love…smash…and fuck. She’ll never have me. She’ll never know me. She will never have my heart.”

Before I c
an react in total shock of his admission, my consciousness wanes and I go under in complete pleasure. I don’t know how long I’m out and because of my previous experience with passing out during sex with Azmir, I don’t panic when I come through. In fact, when I awaken, I don’t open my eyes right away, but I do notice the limo is no longer in motion. I smell sex in the car and oddly find comfort when it reminds me of how I’ve lost consciousness in the first place. I’m curled in Azmir’s lap with his tux jacket draped over me. Then, completely fatigued, I fold into slumber.

I
’m then awakened by sounds. I slowly open my lids and barely focus them to see Azmir cracking the window and pulling something white and fluffy into the cabin. I hear someone quickly greet him to have Azmir thank them before the window closes.

The next thing I
’m aware of is being lifted into fresh air. I barely manage to crack my eyes and observe Azmir carrying me effortlessly into the private entrance of the building at the marina.
We’re home?
I feel the plush cotton material of the oversized terrycloth robe I’m wrapped in. How Azmir fully put it on my naked frame, I don’t recall. The attached hood is over my head as the side of my face rests on Azmir’s strong shoulder. Down at my feet, his tux jacket covers what the housecoat can’t.

I
go back out.

I wa
ke up to running water surrounding me as Azmir lowers me into the Jacuzzi. I hardly realize he’s naked, too, with my heavy eyes. Although I’m awake for most of the bath and makeup removal—yes, I swear, he removes my makeup with cloths—I don’t last much longer. After that, I’m awakened by Azmir demanding that I take two pills and down nearly two glasses of water.

Rayna

The next time I rouse it’s the following morning.

My eyes regretfully open to the glaring sunligh
t, pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite. I shift my head to the opposite side of the room where it’s dimmer though not much. My body goes rigid, expecting symptoms of a hangover. Thankfully, my bout with dehydration is limited to my mouth and not my brain.
No hangover
. Once that assessment is out of the way, my thoughts transition to the man of the house.

Where’s Azmir?

As I push myself up from the bed, using my arms and shift my legs to support me, I cry out, “Ow!”

My thighs
are throbbing and my sex is deliciously sore. Memories of copulatory activities in the back of A.D.’s limo flood the forefront of my mind. My lower back aches as well, but very dissimilar to that associated with my period. No. This is from my muscles being stretched in unfamiliar ways. Again, my thoughts race to the whereabouts of Azmir. Having the increasing urge to empty my bladder, I hop out of the bed without thought and screech from pain again. I find myself hobbling all the way to the toilet to relieve myself. I feel marginally better when I’m done.

Passing each room down the long corridor of the apartment, I search for Azmir. It
isn’t until I’m well into the great room that I hear him on the telephone in the kitchen. Gripping my silk robe around my delicate body, I make my way in there to find him standing over the kitchen table, searching the contents of his messenger bag. Azmir must sense my presence because in no time, he peers up from the bag and finds me at the entrance of the kitchen, off from the dining room. His eyes go from inspection, to discovery, to lackluster of the discovery. In other words, him finding me isn’t welcoming.

He look
s good…damn good considering our late night activities and the hour we made in it. His tall frame is wonderfully clad in a dark indigo suit, stark white dress shirt, and merlot oxfords. His hair and face are well trimmed and he smells divine, even from a distance. I notice his tongue toying with a toothpick in his mouth, causing me to envy it
even in my aching state.

“Yeah, Rich…I got it. I’ll see you in a bit,” I hear the translocation of Richard’s, Azmir’s business partner, voice. “Indeed.”

When he’s off the call, he doesn’t even look back in my direction.

“You okay?” I ask
timidly.

He continue
s organizing his bag and eventually murmurs, “I’m good.” There’s a brief pause before he informs, “Boyd prepared you an omelet with turkey sausage, turkey bacon, veggies and cheese, home-fried potatoes, and
uhhhh
…freshly squeezed orange juice.” He still doesn’t given me eye contact even through that lengthy description. “Oh, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee on. I asked him to put one on for you instead of using the
Keurig
. I didn’t know what kind of condition you’d be in this morning.”

It was nice that he asked Chef Boyd to prepare hangover food for me, but s
omething’s strange. He’s off—we’re off. I start to bounce around, in my head, logical reasons why. The loudest cause can be me disappearing during his signing party last night. I have vague memories of how he burst into the private party room during my tête-à-tête with Dawn.
But I thought we’d made good on that in the limo
. It can’t be because of my confrontation with Dawn, he already knows about that. I can’t think much beyond that because my recollection of last night is fuzzy.

After grabbing his bag from the chair, Azmir st
ands to face me. He finally meets my eyes as he informs, “I have a meeting in the San Fernando area this morning. Shouldn’t be all day. I’ll reach out to you when I’m done. Manny’s on duty today. Let him know if you need something right away.” Then he turns on his heels to exit the kitchen from the other doorway leading into the great room.

“Azmir?” I ask
, my mouth annoyingly dry and now my nerves are frayed. He turns to look at me. “Is there something wrong?”

I s
ee the cogs churning in his mind when he furrows his brows rapidly. His head turns back to the doorway he was heading to before reversing back to me.

I start to grow impatient.
There’s something thick in the air between us and I need to know now. “Are you going to spill it, or do what you’ve asked me not to do, which is internalize it?” I try keeping the sarcasm from my voice. The struggle increases by the second.

Deciding
whether to answer or not, he thumbs his face from his jaw to his bottom lip then cocks his head to the side before relenting, “You told Dawn about the baby…” His gaze falls to my abdomen region, “…our baby?”

That
’s the absolute last thing I expect to hear. My neck slightly jerks, I’m barely able to process his implication. I can recollect our heated exchange, even remember feeling victorious after leaving Dawn in the room alone and being whisked away by her favorite fixation—Azmir. However, the specifics are a blur.

“I recall
being somewhat explicit with her…in an a roundabout way of telling her to back off—”

“Back off of what?” he ask
s irritably. And before I can even answer, he bites out vexingly, “You know what…don’t even answer that. I don’t care to know what caused that little catfight between you two last night. Hell,” he sways his neck. “I even got off on hearing you be so aggressive and staking your claim. But what I will absolutely not tolerate,” he speaks vehemently as he pivots toward me, but maintains a distance that causes a pang to run through my belly. “…is you brandishing our loss as a goddamn weapon to fight with someone who works for me.” His eyes are sharp as his index finger points towards the floor.

I want to
speak, to defend myself, but he’s that quickly snatched my confidence straight from my throat as he continues, “That loss may not have weighed much for you emotionally, but your feelings of it isn’t the only to be considered.”

That
knocks the wind from my lungs. “You don’t think I was affected by losing a baby?”

“Were you?
” Azmir’s eyes widen. “You treated it as someone would a fucking cosmetic routine they didn’t want anyone to know about, but wanted the world to see the aftermath of. You went in for surgery, did your time recovering without telling a soul, and never gave it a second thought.”

I c
an’t believe his demeanor, his underlying accusation. My first intention is to react aggressively; to come out of my corner swinging with a nasty verbal defense that somehow would involve me asking him why he would keep a woman he clearly knows is after him as a business associate. The dirty fighter in me wants to compare that to the likes of Brian Thompson still working with me at the firm. I want to spew so much that it would make him feel as shaken as I am now. But I don’t. I don’t out of sheer fear. Azmir is livid. Beneath the surface, he is a boiling volcano ready to erupt.

“Losing that baby was a painful experience for me, Azmir,” I grit through my teeth in an attempt of keeping the tears at bay. “It wasn’t a
n in-and-out procedure for me in spite of how you may have perceived it.”

He cock
s he head to the side again, bringing his tongue back to his molars, contemplating my words. After an abbreviated pause he returns, “Oh, yeah?”

I c
an only muster one soft nod of my head.

“Karen Bridges, one of my executive admin assistants at the rec…you may or may not remember her. She was in on the leasing proposal meeting when you first visited my boardroom
.” I almost immediately recall her. She’s the redhead with red plastic framed glasses who entered the room just before Azmir and Brett that day. “She miscarried last summer, too…was well within her first trimester. She opted to take a brief leave of absence to
mourn the loss of fetus
according to HR.” Azmir squints, “If I’m not mistaken, you returned to work as soon as you were cleared from the hospital.”

My mouth collapse
s. He’s being mean, hurtful even—all unusual characteristics of my Azmir. My eyes grow to continue to absorb the tears. I feel wounded.

Azmir’s
eyes slowly close as he continues to fight his escalating emotions. Conspicuously absent is my aplomb mogul.

Calming his tone, he mutters, “You don’t share personal information with my business affiliates—
I
don’t share personal information with my business affiliates. For fuck’s sake, she informed me that if that type of shit got out, she’d be the person doing damage control.”

Another mention of Dawn flare
s my anger once again. I don’t want him to get the wrong impression of the cause of our fight last night. “What else specifically did she say to you when she ran back to tattletale—”

“It’s not about what she says!”
he roars, shaking me to the core. “It’s about my feelings! I lost a fucking baby! And if I don’t want that used as ammunition in a bout between you and a business associate that I could not give two flying fucks about, it’s my goddamn prerogative!”

Feeling his admonishment, my eyes f
all to floor, which is symbolic of my tail flopping between my legs. I find myself, again, being seen as insensitive. It’s painful. I have no rebuttal as my eyes sweep the floor. A few seconds into it, I hear Azmir’s loud exhale of exasperation. Then I feel his warm lips press into my chilled forehead before he makes his way out of the kitchen.

What
’s most disturbing is Azmir being right; I probably didn’t feel the loss that the average woman would, losing a baby. I felt the inconvenience of having been told I was pregnant and being holed up in a hospital bed until it was cleansed from my body. I felt it impeded on my bereavement of my best friend. Now I’m feeling insensitive. Inhumane. Disgusting.

A few hours later, when I thought my mood had marginally improved, I’m knocked down a dozen pegs when I find myself online, searching for coverage of the
Mauve
signing. They say when you go looking for trouble, you will find just that. I start out with SandraRose.com when I find pictures of Azmir and other notable figures who attended; some I recall and others I don’t. I only see one picture of Azmir and me on the red carpet. But what’s in abundance is those of Azmir and Dawn inside the event, appearing as the couple of the year and a very handsome one at that.

Dawn’s slender shoulders look companionable to Azmir’s broad and square ones. Her silken ebony skin matche
s his dark chocolate Adonis perfectly. Her proximity to him is carefully placed. Dawn’s hands doesn’t grip Azmir intimately. No. Her touch doesn’t mimic mine as his lover. She’s too smart for that. Dawn arches her arm behind him; I’m sure just short of touching Azmir, which would have alarmed him. But when she smiles for the camera, her head inclines toward him in a familiar juxtaposition. And there are at least a dozen photos of them like this.

The
caption reads well for Azmir, for which I’m grateful. But it also speaks acclaims for Dawn and her PR firm.

“Business mogul, Azmir Jacobs is still flying high in his lucrative career with yet another power move. He’s recently inked a unique endorsement deal with the French and very wealthy Moreau Brothers (they aren’t reputed to do business with men of Mr. Jacobs’ skin tone) for their brandy called Mauve. The event took place last night in West Hollywood.

Atlanta’s very own princess, Dawn Taylor, was there coordinating one of the biggest deals of its kind in history. Dawn is a partner in Bacote & Taylor’s Planning and Public Relations Corp. and looks good on Jacobs’ arm. He’s listed as Vibe’s
Top Richest Black Eligible Bachelor.
Dawn, we wish you the best on this one.”

I’m sure this is Dawn’s doing. Everyone knows Sandra Rose is an Atlanta-based blogger, Dawn’s hometown. I will pay anything that Dawn slipped her these photos. It now makes sense why she wanted to handpick my stylist for the event.

I slam the laptop shut and tos
s it on the other side of the couch. I need air so I go out onto the deck, off the master suite and gaze out into the water. I’m sulking internally. My fiancé is pissed with me—and with good reason. And his bitch of a PR representative, in all her creative ways, is manipulating her way into Azmir’s world. I refuse to bring this to Azmir’s attention.
I’m no weakling!
I’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with her in his life. A method of decimating my clean up woman.

I brood over the whole ordeal for the remainder of the day. My ruminating even follow
s me to bed that night.

I
’ve just dozed off when Azmir slips between the sheets and pulls me into his hard frame, snuggling me beneath him. His scent is tantalizing, his arms comforting, and his sentiment of still being committed to me in spite of my emotional deficiencies is felt in every chamber of my heart. 

God, I love this man…

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, time seemed to have sped by. I spen
d my first Christmas with Azmir, and in true A.D. fashion, he went overboard with gifts and surprises. Outside of diamond earrings and bracelets, designer shoes and clothing I opened boxes to, he also bought me a 2014 Panarema. This car has more power than I care to have at my fingertips or beneath my foot. We agree that I’ll keep Azmir’s 2012 Benz that I covet because it was once his, and use the sports car on special occasions—whenever they’d be.